


safe and sound

by montecarlos



Category: Motorcycling RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Child Neglect, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gen, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Shoplifting, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2020-11-28 16:21:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20969477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/montecarlos/pseuds/montecarlos
Summary: Jorge Lorenzo is not your typical sixteen year old, he has a deadbeat father, a drug habit and has had to fend for himself since he was young. Dani Pedrosa is the son of a police officer. Their lives collide as Dani's father forces the two teenagers into an unlikely living arrangement.





	1. part one

**Author's Note:**

> This fic came into being as the result of that tumblr post "my dad is a cop and he's like i have a 17 year old boy in the back of my cop car right now," and I sent it to J, saying it was probably teenager Jorge with a shaved head and awkwardness, but this thing became a bit less light-hearted than I expected. I made the decision to split this one into chapters and hope that it doesn't take me two years to complete. 
> 
> A big thanks to J on this one, especially for inspiring me to really fuck Jorge up and make him sleep under a bridge.

“I might have known that it was going to be you,” Antonio Pedrosa sighs heavily as he surveys the young teenager slumped in the back of his car. The smug expression he was wearing on his face a few mere moments ago has vanished and he bites down on his lip, rubbing his hand over his shaved head. “You know, kid, one of these days, I am not going to be on duty and someone else is going to pick you up,”   
  
“I’m sorry, officer Pedrosa. I just-” The teenager worries his lip, shoving his shaking hands into the pockets of his ratty leather jacket. “I haven’t eaten for days. I was only taking what I needed-”   
  
“Jorge,” Antonio’s voice softens at the teenager’s words. “This can’t go on, you can’t have another arrest on your record,”   
  
Jorge flinches at the words. “I’m sorry, officer Pedrosa, it won’t happen again, I promise,”    
  
Antonio sighs heavily at the teenager’s expression. He’s aware of the difficulties in Jorge’s life. He remembers the first time that the boy’s father had come to collect him from the police station. The dark green eyes, the same as his sons, were glassy and reddened, as they surveyed the officers before shaking hands signed the documentation. Chicho Lorenzo was well known to the police as a drug-addicted petty criminal who had been in prison more than he had been free. Antonio had been surprised to discover that the criminal was a father. He had had plenty of preconceptions when he met Jorge Lorenzo for the first time - and to an extent, the sixteen year old did look like his father in miniature form down to the same long nose and thick, dark eyebrows. But when he opened his mouth, he was far from the smart-mouthed individual that Antonio was expecting. He knew he shouldn’t nurse soft spots towards any criminal, but Jorge wasn’t a criminal to him, he was simply a kid who was crying out for help.    
  
“Didn’t your father tell you to always tell the truth, Jorge?” Antonio asks with a raised eyebrow.    
  
Jorge flinches at the words. “I’m sorry,”    
  
Antonio notices how the teenagers hands shake violently. “What did you take?”   
  
“Nothing,” Jorge bites back, tucking his shaking hands away once more. “I haven’t taken anything,”   
  
“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what it is, son,”   
  
Jorge worries his lip, his dark green eyes locking on the police officer. “I don’t know, officer,”   
  
“ _ Jorge _ ,”   
  
Jorge mumbles something under his breath, his teeth still caught on his lip. “Just some ecstasy,”   
  
Antonio sighs under his breath and Jorge lowers his head, as though he’s ashamed of his own words. He surveys the young teenager, eyes lingering on the too-thin wrists and gaunt cheekbones of the sixteen year old before he turns around, switching the car back on.    
  
Jorge’s head immediately whips up at the action. “Are you taking me to the station?”   
  
“No, I’m taking you for a meal, kid. Can’t let you starve on my watch,”   
  
Antonio spots Jorge’s face almost lighting up at the mere suggestion of food.    
  


* * *

  
“Thought you’d pick something healthier than this,” Jorge remarks quietly, there’s the ghost of a smile on his lips as he devours his cheeseburger. “Like a salad or something,”   
  
“I’m hungry too, you know,” Antonio fires back as he takes a bite out of his own burger. “Though I’m sure Dani will be annoyed that I’m having a McDonalds without him,”   
  
Jorge smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his face. Antonio knows they’re in the same class at school - but Dani has always steered clear of the other teenager. He has mentioned him before a few times when they’ve been having dinner together, but it has always been in passing and the words have always been negative. Antonio feels his heart sink as he watches the sixteen year old shove the fries into his mouth, barely taking the time to chew. He knows he cares too much - but his own son is the same age as Jorge, and he can’t bare to think of him going through what Jorge has been through. His mother had walked out on him when Jorge was only four years old and his father had turned to drugs, alcohol and petty crime in his grief.   
  
“Are you going to finish your fries?” Jorge’s voice cuts through his thoughts.   
  
“What?” Antonio begins, noticing that the cartons in front of the teenager are already empty. “Oh, no, dig in,” He pushes his own fries towards Jorge and watches him continue to shove the slightly warm fries into his mouth, without barely stopping.    
  
“Where’s your father, Jorge?” He tries to phrase the question in a way that doesn’t sound too commanding, but Jorge freezes, his green eyes suddenly darkening with an emotion that Antonio cannot place.    
  
“Why do you need to know?” Jorge’s tone is defensive.    
  
“Because I need to speak to him about leaving his sixteen year old son out on the streets at all hours,”   
  
Jorge pushes the empty box away. “I have to go-”   
  
“Let me take you home,” Antonio says as he stands up, clipping his radio back onto his belt. “It’s the end of my shift anyways,” Jorge gives him an unreadable look as he helps the older man to clear away the empty boxes.    
  
“You don’t have to do that, officer Pedrosa,”   
  
“Humour me, kid,” Antonio says with a smile.    
  
Jorge returns the smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his face. 

* * *

  
Jorge remains silent as he slides into the passenger seat of Antonio’s police car. He does his seatbelt quietly, his face leaning up against the window. Antonio decides not to push the teenager further, starting the car and pulling out of the car park in silence. It continues as they drive along the deserted roads, towards the Lorenzo family home - if it can be called that anymore, since Chicho never seems to be at home - Antonio notices Jorge stiffen ever so slightly as they draw nearer.    
  
“Officer Pedrosa?” Jorge’s voice is polite, yet guarded. “Do you think you could drop me off at the Parc de Catalunya?”    
  
Antonio raises an eyebrow. “Why do you want to go there, Jorge?”   
  
Jorge worries his lip as the police officer’s dark eyes lock on him. “I just - I don’t want to go home just yet, that’s all,”   
  
Antonio sighs heavily, pulling the car over. “Jorge, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong,”   
  
Jorge finally glances at the older man. “Because I’m living there,”   
  
“What? Near the park?” Antonio asks. “I didn’t know you moved house,”   
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Jorge answers, a little too quickly. “You could drop me off at the entrance if you want, I can walk the rest of the way-”   
  
“Jorge,” Antonio sighs. He knows that expression well. “Tell me the truth,”   
  
Jorge averts his gaze, fiddling with the cuffs of his battered leather jacket. “I am telling the truth-” He pauses, feeling the dark eyes of the police officer still focused on him. “I- I’m living there, okay? My dad threw me out because I stole - something from him,”   
  
“Exactly where in the park are you living, Jorge?”   
  
“Under the bridge,” Jorge murmurs, closing his mouth as he realises that he’s said too much. “It’s just for a few days, Officer Pedrosa. I’ll be fine,”   
  
Antonio takes in Jorge’s gaunt face under the dim headlights. He can’t do this. He cannot let a sixteen year old spend the night under a bridge. Sabadell is warm enough at this time of year, but staring at the thin jacket wrapped around Jorge’s slight form, he quickly makes a decision, turning the car around to make the journey back to his own home.   
  
“What are you doing? The park is that way,”   
  
“I’m not letting you stay in the park overnight, Jorge,” Antonio says softly. He tries not to glance down at Jorge’s shaking hands - they seem to have gotten worse during their time in the car. “I can’t do that,”   
  
“You’re not my dad,” Jorge bites back, shoving his shaking hands back into his pockets.    
  
“You’re staying with me for the night,” Antonio keeps his tone calm and quiet.    
  
“Staying with you?” Jorge’s eyes grow wide. “At your house?”   
  
“Yes, Jorge, at my house,”    
  
“Won’t Mrs Pedrosa mind?”   
  
The small smile that curled on Antonio’s lips vanishes at Jorge’s question. “Mrs Pedrosa died when Dani and Eric were very small,” His gaze fixes on the road ahead. “It’s just me and my two sons. You know Dani anyway, don’t you?”   
  
“Sort of,” Jorge worries his lip. He does know Dani - but the smaller teenager  _ loathes him _ . They never got on, not even when they were younger. “We’re not really friends,”   
  
“So I’ve heard,” Antonio chuckles under his breath. “He’s told me all about you,”   
  
Jorge stiffens. “So why are you helping me?”   
  
“Because you remind me of myself when I was younger,”    
  
The admission shocks Jorge into silence. He doesn’t say anything for the remainder of the journey, fiddling with his rucksack as Antonio slowly pulls into the driveway of a large villa-like house. It’s so different to his own house - it looks like a proper home, he notes, with soft lights on in the lounge and long gauzy curtains at every window. Jorge shoulders his bag, shoving his hands back into his pockets to stop them from shaking. It’s been a fair few hours since his last hit and he can feel his body calling out for what it needs. He follows Antonio through the front door, kicking off his trainers as Antonio shrugs off his coat and throws his car keys into the bowl.    
  
“Papa! Eric isn’t going to bed like you said-” A familiar voice calls out.    
  
“You’re such a liar, Dani!” Another voice chimes in, much younger, and Jorge freezes as he comes face to face with Dani Pedrosa. Dark brown eyes meet his own green ones, and he watches confusion turn to disgust.    
  
“What is  _ he _ doing here?” Dani sneers, his attention locked on Jorge.    



	2. part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jorge succumbs to temptation, whilst Antonio tries to play peacemaker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter from me, this is just a little something I whipped up because I couldn't sleep. This story has basically no set plotline, which is normal for me, so unfortunately, I have no way of telling how long it will be. I have like a brief outline but I'll see if that works out. Warnings for drug use in this chapter - it's nothing too graphic as I know it's a bit out there for some people so I think it's better to imply and allow the reader to picture it themselves. 
> 
> A big thank you to my bro J for the cheerleading and the inspiration over which shirt Jorge should wear.

_“What is **he**_ _ doing here?” Dani sneers, his attention locked on Jorge. _  
  


* * *

  
“Jorge is staying here tonight,” Antonio levels a gaze at his son. “I want you to make him feel welcome,”   
  
“You’re bringing a _ druggie _ into our home, papa,” Dani snarls, his arms folded as his gaze flickers over to Jorge. “Why can’t he go to his own house?”   
  
“Dani,” Antonio’s tone is one of warning. “We don’t talk to guests like that,”   
  
“Guests? He’s not a guest! He’s a drug addict! He’s just using you, papa,” Dani snaps, his eyes dark with anger.    
  
“Daniel,” Antonio fires back, his eyes equally dark. “This is my house and my rules, Jorge is staying in the spare room tonight,”   
  
Dani says nothing, turning on his heel and storming off up the stairs. Jorge hears a door slam shut, presumably Dani’s bedroom, as Antonio sighs heavily. “I’m sorry about that,” His voice turns soft and calm once more. “I know that you and him don’t really get on-”   
  
“I get it,” Jorge says, worrying at his lip. “He hates me and I don’t blame him,”   
  
“Jorge-”   
  
“Why are you being so kind to me? Shouldn’t you be locking me up and forcing me to go to rehab or something?”   
  
“Don’t worry about that right now, Jorge. You’re a good kid deep down, you’ve just fallen on difficult times, and who can blame you with your home life being the way it is,”   
  
Jorge picks at his nails. “Are you sure I can stay?”   
  
“I’m sure,” Antonio says with a smile. “Though, I think I might need to ask Dani if you can borrow one of his t-shirts to wear for bed, you can’t sleep in your clothes,”   
  
Jorge is about to reply that he’s certain that nothing that Dani Pedrosa, a 16 year old who has still not hit his growth spurt and is arguably one of the smallest people at their school, owns would fit him but he thinks better of it, staying silent as Antonio smiles again and leaves the room, heading up the stairs to his son’s room.    
  


* * *

  
“Dani, open the door,” Antonio tries to keep his voice as light as possible as he knocks on the door to his eldest son’s room. He is greeted with silence, and sighs heavily. “Daniel. I mean it.”   
  
Silence once more.    
  
“Daniel, open this door right now, or I am grounding you for a week,” Antonio hates to play his last ace, but he feels he has to.   
  
The door reluctantly opens. Dani steps into view, his arms folded and his eyes still dark with anger. He looks just like his mother in that moment - and Antonio feels something clench deep within his chest at the image. Dani always was the child who embodied Basilia the most - down to his short stature which matched his equally short temper, something he inherited from his mother, to the dark brown eyes that Antonio misses so much.   
  
“Jorge needs to borrow a t-shirt from you,” Antonio says quietly. “It’s just for one night and I will wash it afterwards,”   
  
“I don’t have anything that would fit him,” Dani says flatly, his gaze unmoving from his father. 

“Dani, don’t be like this-”   
  
“Like what? Concerned that we have a drug addict in our house?” Dani hisses. “You’re supposed to be the parent. Mama would never allow this-”   
  
Antonio reels back from the words as though he’s been slapped. They sting and ache, and having his son who looks so much like his late wife saying them, hurts even more than he’s certain Dani intended. But he has to be the calm, collected one. He takes a deep breath, trying to ignore the twisting sensation in his chest.   
  
“Your mother isn’t here to make those decisions, Daniel.” His voice shakes ever so slightly. “Now do as I say. It’s for one night, that is all I am asking,”   
  
Dani huffs something under his breath as he turns on his heel and disappears into his bedroom. He appears a few moments later, holding out a crumpled Barcelona football shirt, wordlessly.    
  
Antonio raises his eyebrow.   
  
“It’s the only shirt I have which is slightly bigger on me and would probably fit him,” Dani says quietly. “And he won’t mind. He supports Barcelona anyway,”   
  
Antonio opens his mouth to ask how his son knows that piece of information, but thinks better of it. He’s asked enough of Dani tonight. “Goodnight son, I love you,” He says, softly.    
  
“Goodnight papa. I love you too,” Dani replies before he disappears back into his bedroom, the door slowly clicking shut behind him.    
  


* * *

  
Jorge glances around the spare room with wide eyes - there’s a double bed in the middle of the room, covered with the softest looking white duvet he’s ever seen - certainly warmer looking than anything he has at home with his dad - and a few photos of black and white motorcycles decorating the walls. It looks like a proper bedroom. “Are you sure I can stay here? I don’t mind sleeping on the couch,”   
  
“You’re not sleeping on the couch when we have a perfectly good bed here,” Antonio says with a smile as he watches the teenager take in the room. “And here’s a shirt for you to sleep in,” He hands the crumpled shirt over to the teenager.   
  
Jorge takes it hesitantly, his eyes taking in the distinct red and blue stripes of the shirt. He’s always been a fan of Barcelona, and he can remember the first and only football shirt he ever received from his mother when he was three years old. He had cried when he had outgrown it and his father refused to buy him a new one.   
  
_“You don’t need football shirts, Jorge. They’re a waste of money,”_  
  
“Well, I’ll let you get comfortable,” Antonio’s voice cuts through his thoughts. “There’s a spare toothbrush in the pot. It’s the yellow one. If you need anything else, just let me know. I’m in the door down the hall,” He smiles at the teenager once more before he turns on his heel and leaves the room, closing the door softly behind him.   
  
Jorge stands in the middle of the room, the shirt still clasped between his fingers. He slowly unravels the soft material, only to see the name _Pedrosa_ printed on the back in bright yellow letters alongside the number 26. He feels his chest clench at the sight of the name, and he hesitates for a moment before he reluctantly pulls off his ratty hoodie, followed by his threadbare t-shirt. The material slides over his skin like silk, and he suddenly gets a whiff of what is presumably Dani’s aftershave. It’s subtle and earthy, just the way Jorge imagined he would smell. The t-shirt is a little tight around his shoulders, but it’s to be expected - Dani is not known for his large size. He toes off his trainers and allows his holey jeans to join the rest of his clothes in a pile on the floor before he moves over to the bed. He slowly peels back the covers and slides beneath the sheets, trying to ignore how good it feels to be in a clean bed with sheets that don’t scratch his skin and a pillow that isn’t lumpy and should have been replaced years ago.   
  
However, despite how warm and comfortable Jorge feels, there’s an unmistakable itch underneath his skin, one that he knows will not go away without intervention. He knows that it will only intensify - it’s been a couple of hours since his last hit - and he has some left in his bag. His thoughts become overwhelmed by the small plastic bag in his rucksack, there’s just enough to last him until the morning when he can acquire more. He pushes the duvet away with shaking fingers, and slowly moves towards his bag. It’s easy enough to unzip the top pocket and pull the plastic bag loose. The white powder within seems to almost gain a voice - _take me, Jorge, I’ll make you feel better. I’ll help you to sleep._  
  
He shakes his head. He can’t do it. What if Antonio catches him? He’ll throw him out on the streets.   
  
_Nobody will know, Jorge. It’s okay. You need me. ___  
__  
He closes his eyes as his fist curls tightly around the bag. _Just a little, a little to take the edge off. _  
  
Jorge opens the bedroom door quietly and glances into the darkness. He can see the door to Antonio’s room firmly closed at the end of the hall. He passes the first closed door on his right, noting the piece of paper, decorated with child-like scribbles proclaiming the room to be Eric’s, Dani’s younger brother. The room directly opposite has a simple plaque on the door.   
  
_Dani’s room._   
  
Jorge deduces the final door next to Dani’s room is clearly the bathroom. Clutching the bag tightly in his fist, he makes his way down the hallway and opens the door to the bathroom. Switching on the light, he sighs in relief as he’s greeted by a shower, bath, toilet and sink all gleaming white in the sterile light. Closing the door behind him, he moves over to the sink and turns on the tap before he pulls the rolled up banknote out of the plastic bag. It’s easy enough to tap out a thin white line of powder neatly on the bathroom counter. The itch seems to intensify as he stares down at the line.   
  
_C’mon, Jorge. You need me don’t you?___  
__  
He does. He hates the answer to that question, but he does. He shouldn’t. Not here. Not standing in a police officer’s bathroom, wearing his son’s football shirt. Shaking fingers twist around the rolled up banknote as Jorge leans forward -   
  
It’s easy enough in the end and the rush hits him almost immediately, the sound hidden by the running water, the powder disappearing - he can feel the warmth and satisfaction spread over him almost immediately, the itch finally sated -   
  
“What the fuck are you doing?” A familiar voice cuts through his haze and he feels his heart drop in his chest at the sight of Dani standing in the doorway, looking furious.  
  



	3. part three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jorge deals with the fallout of giving in temptation, whilst Dani has to deal with a dilemma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kind comments on this fic so far - much appreciated! This chapter was a little bit of a bitch to write, but I tried my best to come up with something that has much drama and angst - this is for you, L, you hoe lol.
> 
> Big thank you to J for cheerleading, love you bro.

“Dani,” Jorge feels the rolled up banknote fall from his shaking fingers. “It’s not what it looks like, honestly-”   
  
“Not what it looks like huh Lorenzo? So what was that white powder then huh?”   
  
“Please, I just needed a hit,” Jorge says, the buzz from the cocaine slowly settling over his bones. “I was desperate,”   
  
“I have to tell my dad,” Dani shakes his head as he turns on his heel, moving towards the bathroom door only for Jorge to grab hold of his wrist.    
  
“Dani, please,”   
  
“Let go of me, Lorenzo,” Dani hisses under his breath, trying to yank his wrist away. “You want to ruin your own life? That’s fine. But you’re not endangering my dad’s career,”   
  
“I’m not! I wouldn’t do that-”   
  
“I knew you were trouble,” Dani pulls harder, but he’s no match for Jorge, who is easily half a foot taller than him. “I knew you weren’t to be trusted, you’re just like your father, a no-good  _ druggie _ -” He’s cut off as Jorge slams him up against the wall of the bathroom, his green eyes suddenly pitch black with anger.    
  
“You don’t know a thing about me, Pedrosa,” Jorge hisses under his breath. “You don’t know what it is like to grow up with a mother who abandons you, with a father who is more interested in his next hit than with what’s going on in your life,”   
  
Jorge is inches away from Dani’s face, his breath close enough to brush over the shorter teenager’s lips. “I don’t have any friends, nobody to talk to - the only thing that I have are the drugs,”   
  
Dani bites down on his lip, his eyes locked on Jorge’s dark ones. “That isn’t true-”   
  
“Isn’t it? I have nobody, Pedrosa. I have nothing in my life to look forward to except my next hit. It’s okay for people like you isn’t it? Perfect life, not having to worry about where your next meal is coming from because your dad hasn’t spent all his money on drugs-”   
  
“My life isn’t perfect either, you know,” Dani growls back.    
  
Jorge lets out a hollow laugh. “Oh yeah, sure, not doing your biology homework makes your life so difficult doesn’t it?”   
  
“You don’t know anything about me,” Dani hisses, his eyes still fixed on the taller teenager. Jorge’s body is still pressed against his own - he can feel the warm, wirey muscle of Jorge’s chest moving underneath the Barcelona shirt, traces of the white powder still sticking to Jorge’s nose. Dani feels the tell-tale warmth curling in his lower abdomen and closes his eyes, hating his body for betraying him.    
  
Jorge cocks his head slightly, jolting as he feels Dani’s arousal against him, his lips turning into a lopsided smirk. “Well, well, I wasn’t expecting that, Pedrosa. Didn’t know I was your type,”   
  
Dani’s eyes wrench open at the words and he summons up the energy to push the taller teenager away. “Fuck you, I’m not gay,”   
  
“Could have fooled me,” Jorge teases, backing Dani up against the wall once more, placing his hands at either side of the older boy’s head. “Is that why you hate me so much, Dani? Because you want to kiss me? Let me fuck you-”    
  
The words disappear as Dani punches Jorge in the face. The taller teenager staggers back, cursing under his breath as he holds his cheek. “Nice punch you’ve got there, Pedrosa,”   
  
“Stay away from me, Jorge,” Dani’s voice shakes ever so slightly, his eyes dark and trained on the Majorcan teen. “I mean it,”   
  
It’s only when Dani disappears back to his bedroom, leaving Jorge standing in the bathroom, still holding his stinging cheek that he realises that he didn’t tell his father about the drugs, and he called him Jorge.    
  
He finds his way back to the spare room and curls under the duvet, his dreams haunted by the chocolate brown eyes of Dani Pedrosa.   
  


* * *

  
“Papa, you promised that this was for one night only! Think about what effect being around someone on drugs is doing to Eric-”   
  
“He didn’t have any drugs on him, and he certainly didn’t take them in the house. What is the matter with you Dani? If this was anyone else, you would want to help-”   
  
“Because-” Dani pauses. “Papa, I don’t want him to ruin your career-”   
  
“He’s a sixteen year old kid. He’s not going to do anything, Daniel. I know what I’m doing,”   
  
“Papa-”   
  
“This is not up for negotiation, Daniel. Jorge is staying and that’s final,”   
  
Jorge freezes on the stairs for a moment, before he reluctantly makes his way into the kitchen, trying to ignore the throbbing pain, the effects of the cocaine long since worn off. He tightens his shaking hands into fists as he slowly slides into a chair as far away from Dani as he possibly can. He feels Dani’s heated gaze on his face for a moment, before the teenager quickly looks away as though he’s ashamed of being caught.    
  
“Help yourself to tostada,” Antonio glances up at their guest, only for the smile to fall from his face at the bruise on the teenager’s face. “Jorge, what happened to your face?”    
  
Jorge busies himself by grabbing a slice of toasted bread, piled high with tomatoes and olive oil, evading Antonio’s gaze. “Fell out of bed, that’s all,”   
  
“That looks like a fist,”    
  
“Yeah, accidentally punched myself in the face as I fell, that’s all,” Jorge says before he takes a bite of his tostada, hoping the police officer won’t push the matter further. “Thanks for letting me stay last night,”   
  
“You’re welcome, son,” Antonio smiles at him again over the rim of his coffee cup. “I was wondering if you would like to stay a bit longer,”   
  
Jorge freezes. “What?”   
  
“I would like you to stay for a little longer, we have the room and you can focus on school,”   
  
Jorge knows he should say no. His body is already begging for the next hit, he can feel his hands shaking as he pushes the plate away. “I can’t stay here,”  
  
_Stay away from me, Jorge. I mean it. _   
  
“Jorge,” Antonio says softly. “Jorge, think about this,”   
  
“I have to go,” Jorge murmurs, trying to ignore the tremors in his hands as he abruptly stands up, the sound of the chair scraping across the wooden floor echoing through the air. “Thank you for letting me stay,”   
  
He barely recalls shoving his feet into his old Converse before his shaking hands wrench open the door. The sound of the pouring rain manages to drown out Antonio’s worried calls as Jorge sprints away down the street, ignoring the raindrops pelting his bare skin, still clothed in only in Dani’s football shirt and his ratty old jeans. It’s not until he reaches the safety of the park that he realises that he’s left his jacket back at the Pedrosa household - the bag of cocaine still in the pocket. Cursing under his breath, he ducks underneath the bridge that he had called home for the past few weeks, watching the rain fall. Tears prick up in his eyes and he hurriedly tries to wipe them away with his bare arm, only for more to leak out of his eyes.    
  
_ Why is he like this? Why can’t he do anything right? _   
  
He closes his eyes, drawing his arms against his body as he shivers, both from the cold and from the withdrawal. His fingers brush against the soft material of the shirt and he thinks once again of the dark brown eyes of the boy who gave it to him.    
  
“Lorenzo,” A familiar voice cuts through the rain. Jorge opens his eyes, only to see the same brown eyes staring back at him. Dani is panting lightly, as though he has been running. He holds out a ratty black leather jacket. “You left this behind,”   
  
Jorge says nothing, his shaking hand moving to pull the jacket away from Dani’s fingers. But Dani grabs hold of his wrist, his eyes locked onto Jorge’s own green ones. He wordlessly pushes the bag into Jorge’s hand. “Take your damn drugs, Jorge,”   
  
Jorge stares at the shorter teenager. “You - you called me Jorge,”   
  
Dani’s eyes widen a fraction at the words. “Just - just take it,”   
  
“Why do you hate me, Dani?”    
  
“I- I don’t hate you,” Dani murmurs, letting go of Jorge’s wrist as though it burns.    
  
“Why are you here? Because your dad made you follow me?” Jorge asks, unable to take his gaze off Dani, realising that the shorter teenager is also soaked to the bone, his dark hair plastered to his forehead. “You probably told him about last night too,”   
  
“I didn’t tell him,” Dani’s eyes look almost like onyx.    
  
“Why?”   
  
“Because - because I didn’t want him to throw you out into the middle of the night,” Dani stares down at his trainers.    
  
“Nice of you to care,” Jorge can’t stop the sarcasm from lacing his words. “You were so eager to get me out, so why not tell him and get rid of me sooner?”   
  
“I don’t know why!” Dani glances up, his lip caught between his teeth.   
  
“There must be a reason, Dani,” Jorge snarls, moving closer to the older teenager. “Why?”   
  
“I-”    
  
“Dani! Jorge!” Antonio’s voice cuts through the rain and Jorge watches Dani stiffen as his own hand moves to shove the bag back into the pocket of his jeans. Antonio’s eyes move between the two teenagers. “Is everything alright?”   
  
“Fine,” Dani huffs as he turns on his heel and marches away. Jorge watches the smaller teen disappear in the sheets of rain with a heavy heart.


End file.
